


Sooner or Later: Winterhawk Drabbles

by pariahsdream



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Barton bros, Drabble Collection, Drabbles, HS AU, High School AU, M/M, Noir AU, Vegas Wedding, a/b/o dynamics, boys being dumb, kidnapped sniper bros, people judging Clint's life choices, prompts, quickie wedding, tags subjected to change, touch starved, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pariahsdream/pseuds/pariahsdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a collection of Clint/Bucky drabbles I've done on tumblr originally. There's not enough of this pairing so why the hell not put'em up here too? Not beta'ed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arm Wrestling With Bionic (Former) Assassins

"I am not a chicken!"

"Bwackbwakbwak~" 

Clint wants to punch the smirk off of Bucky’s face because it’s the smirk that always gets him in trouble. (Though usually he’s enjoying himself at the same time.)

"Your arm is made of metal, how is that fair?" He complains, glaring at the other man across the table.

"Don’t you trust me to hold back, _ptichka_?” 

"Hell no!"

Bucky laughs.


	2. Just Because We're Tied Up Doesn't Mean We Can't Enjoy Ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [. Prompt: tied up assassins](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/82843863610/i-like-tied-up-assassins-kthx-3%20)

"So that was boring." Clint chews his newly split lip as the door shuts, leaving him alone with super-assassin. Who does not apparently believe in color commentary. "I mean really," he continues because what else is there to do. "If you’re going to monologue, change it up a bit. Make it interesting. Do you know how many ‘the world has done me wrong and now it will pay’ speeches I’ve heard? I was considering reciting along with him but y’know, the punch to the face. Coulda been worse. Coulda been my nose again."

Bucky is still not talking. Actually he’s pretty sure he isn’t listening as he’s now tugging on their handcuffed wrists, one lopped through some thick water pipe while the other set of their hands are handcuffed to each other’s. “Hey, that’s attached,” he warns. He’s not sure if he’s more afraid of Bucky attempting to pull him through the opening between the wall and the water pipe or break the wrist attached to Bucky’s metal arm.

"That’s the problem," Bucky finally says.

"He speaks!" Clint twists enough to actually look at Bucky over his shoulder. "Ah, I remember those. SHIELD standard briefs. Kinda itchy don’tcha think?"

"…." Bucky gives him a pointed look then drops his gaze to Clint’s own more colorful bullseye-printed ones. 

"I wasn’t expecting to be kidnapped y’know."

"And if you were?"

"Yeah, probably wouldn’t make a difference."

Bucky makes a noise that’s suspiciously similar to a huff of laughter and Clint can’t contain his grin. ”Alright, let’s find out how flexible I am,” he sighs, twisting his arms so he faces the pipe and Bucky.

"Back in my day, I’d’ve had to buy you dinner first."

"Who says you’re not once we’re out of here? Now shut up and brace me."


	3. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/79419704348/touch-winterhawk). 
> 
> Prompt: touch-starved Bucky/Clint.

It’s not that Clint isn’t a handsy guy- he is. Everyone knows it. Hell, he’s gotten a few (justified) smacks for it. But with Bucky it’s just different.

He didn’t really recognize it at first because Clint really isn’t about self-reflection that doesn’t come with a chaser of Jack. But he does catch on at some point that any time he touches Bucky- a hand on his arm, bumping shoulders, ruffling that dark, thick hair- Bucky always leans into the touch. Without fail, his body will just press in tight and keep the connection for a few extra seconds. It’s subtle is what it is and that’s never been Clint’s strong suit.

Even when they started to screw around Clint didn’t notice it at first (mostly cuz he was too busy going holy shit yes please). Bucky has a good twenty pounds of muscle on him, not including the arm, and he likes to use it. (Clint likes him to use it). 

He’s a pushy guy- not just with his mouth but knowing that Clint pushes back makes Bucky reckless. They shove against each other, forcing themselves to fit into cracked and broken places. It’s never enough that Clint might have a hand or a mouth exactly where he’s needed, Bucky needs him everywhere. Needs their bodies to overheat from too much togetherness. Maybe it’s something metaphorical or poetical or whatever, to chase off the chill of winter.

It doesn’t matter much to Clint. What matters is that he can do something good for the cocky shit. He can help him anchor in the now with just a touch.

And it also helps that Nat taught him all of Bucky’s ticklish spots. Heh.


	4. Not as Expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/84498171461/clint-bucky-drabble).
> 
> Prompt: Alpha!Bucky and Omega!Clint.

Things were different back during the war. It's not that omegas couldn't serve- they were fierce as hell when their units got pinned down- they just had to make sure not to be placed in units with Alphas. It wasn't a huge thing- though there was that old joke that someone always knew a guy who knew a guy that said so-and-so was an omega- and it had never affected Bucky before. Just never crossed his path except when everyone used to assume that Steve was one because of how scrawny and weak he was. 

So when he met Barton- mouthy and smart-assed and trouble with a capital 'T'- it didn't occur to him to think he was an omega. He didn't even notice anything until after a particularly brutal fight and he latched an arm around Clint's waist and flung them over the side of a building while using his newly-enhanced arm to slow their descend with a shower of sparks from his fingers against the concrete. Clint laughed- high on adrenaline and terror- grabbed Bucky's head and smacked a kiss to his mouth. 

"You're my new favorite, ha!" He declared and Bucky finally smelled the pheromones whispering off of hot, sweaty skin. He said something in response but hell if he can remember it now. 

And then nothing. 

Nothing changes. He and Clint hang out more, work together, drink coffee at obscene hours and maybe he teases him in Russian just to watch Clint turn pink around the ears and pout at him but that's it. There's no falling into his arms and demanding to be 'taken care of' (not that Bucky doesn't idly fantasize otherwise because Clint is flexible and creative in a fight and that's plenty to go off of). His skin burns every time they sit too close on the couch- and God have mercy, Clint has no clue what personal space is- and he smells better than he has any right to. It's driving Bucky nuts but he ain't the kinda Alpha to go where he ain't invited.

He expects things to stay that way but they don't.

There's some moron with SHIELD intelligence, trying to take out all their ex-agents and current agents. Bucky's arm gets taken offline and he hasn't felt that kind of pain in a long time. When he comes to, Clint's shooting off arrows and his mouth at the same time.

"-believe you, dumbass Alphas thinking that just because they're Cap's stand-in every third Tuesday means they're friggin' invulnerable. One EM pulse-wave later and you make me worry my ass off, not that you'd get it because you are the dumbest motherfucker around, I swear I'm gonna have to jerk off in your goddamn bed to get you to realize what I've been putting out there for frickin' months," he complains, kicking a masked thug in the head. "Back off!"

"Do I haveta wait til you're done or can I join in?" Bucky asks, blinking so he doesn't see double anymore.

Clint tenses for a second before he shoots off another arrow, this one with bolos that clobber another baddie. "You think you can handle much of anything right now, Sarge?"

"I certainly want to handle something."

Clint snorts but a smirk is curling up his lips as he tucks himself under Bucky's shoulder. He risks getting dropped on his ass and plants his nose behind Clint's ear, licking the skin and sighing. "Whoever told you you were charming was fulla shit. When you're not gonna fall over, then you can prove how much of an Alpha you are. Promise. I'll even let you throw me around some."

Clint's grin is dirty but not half as bad as all the things he whispers into Bucky's ear on the way back to the mansion.


	5. Ok, This Looks Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted here: [LINK](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/94843964826/lowlizah-prompt-clint-is-laying-low-in-vegas).
> 
> Prompt: Clint is laying low in Vegas because apparently no one thinks to guard the west coast while shit is going down on the other side of the country. Bucky decides that heading out west would be the best place to get away from Captain America’s attachment to the eastern USA to gather his thoughts and form a game plan. The two happen upon each other, bond, and drink the night away. They wake up the next morning married and shenanigans follow. Bonus points for Natasha being upset about not being able to be best woman and Thor sad they missed a chance of good revelry and drinking. Double bonus if you include stony. Triple bonus points if you add Steve pulling the disappointed dad and everyone being surprised Tony wasn’t the one to get drunk married. Cliche oldie but always a goodie.

Tasha finds out first because of course she does. Okay, granted half of that was because she was keeping a discreet eye on Clint when he headed west after New York. (That was only 12% out of concern about what happened and 88% because it’s never a bad idea to keep an eye on a Barton.) Clint would guess she was also looking for Bucky’s movements when it led her to finding out about him ending up in Clint’s neck of the woods.

He’s still not sure how she found out about the quickie wedding or how she ended up on his doorstep like, not a day later? 

“You’re a _spy_ , aren’t you supposed to be discreet ‘n shit?” he complains when he finds not just the redhead but Steve, Tony, Sam and Rhodey on the other side of his front door. Tony’s shit-eating grin explains how Tasha got to Vegas so fast. He puts another item in the column of shit he hates about Tony fuckin’ Stark.

“Thor was disappointed that you didn’t invite him to the nuptial feast,” she replies dryly instead, brushing past him. Steve at least waits for him to wave them all in. 

“Sure, c’mon in. Not like I have a hangover or anything.”

“I owe Sam money now, thanks,” Rhodey shakes his head at him as he passes, looking disappointed. “Had Tony pegged for the quickie wedding first.”

“You obviously don’t know Clint _or_ Steve as well as I do,” Sam smirks, thumbing the bills in his hand. Clint makes a vow to put glitter on his flight suit or something worse once his head stops pounding.

“Hardy-har. Is this an intervention? I’ve only been married one other time,” Clint grumbles. Should he wake up Bucky? He kinda doesn’t want the additional audience to his humiliation. 

“Why would you think Steve wouldn’t do a quickie marriage?” Tasha asks instead, turning to the other man. “Especially if someone goaded him into it like Tony would.”

“Hey!” Tony protests. “Who says I even want to marry his ass?”

“You did, four days ago,” Rhodey pipes up, poking through Clint’s DVR que as he lounges on the couch. “Literally his ass. Hey _Dog Cops_!”

“Touch that que and die, Rhodes. You could all heckle each other without me here,” Clint pinches the bridge of his nose, heading back into the kitchen for the coffee he’d abandoned. He should’ve known better. Nothing is worth abandoning coffee over. When he gets there, a cup is already poured out. Did he do that? Whatever. He accepts the mercy of the gods and chugs it down.

“I’m just here for the free trip to Vegas,” Sam offers, having followed Clint apparent but he heads to the fridge. He’s pulling out food that Clint doesn’t remember buying himself, which is not unusual, if he’s being honest. He’s torn between being annoyed at Sam thinking he can just make breakfast for everyone with his food and the reality of one of Sam’s legendary breakfasts. “What are you doing out here, man?”

“Despite what everyone thinks, not every bad thing happens in New York,” Clint mumbles around his coffee cup. He doesn’t mention that he’s from out west originally because it was a lifetime ago and he’s been a man with a suitcase in hand for more than half his life. 

“Anything important does,” Tony has apparently followed them. He’d bet Steve’s gone to look for Bucky and wonders if he climbed out the window. He wouldn’t blame the other man if he did. At this point, Clint is eyeing his exits too. “But no really, a west coast version of the Avengers has merit. You know, not as good as the original but adequate if it's all that’s available.”

Clint takes satisfaction in pinning Tony’s shirt sleeve to the counter with the thrown fork. 

“You deserved that,” Steve enters the kitchen but pulls Tony’s sleeve free anyway. Yup, definitely didn’t find Bucky, given the disappointed expression on his face. “Clint, what were you thinking?”

“I actually don’t remember much except the awesome sex.” Steve is not amused at him, hands planted on his hips. There’s the Cap ‘disappointed head shake’ right on cue too. Ugh. “No, really I’m not kidding. I don’t remember much. I have no idea why we thought getting a Vegas marriage was a good idea.”

“None of your ideas are good ideas,” Tasha pipes up. She’s handing Sam spices out of his cupboards. He shoots her a look- see, he’s being a grown up and buying real food and stuff without being prompted. (Granted she has to peel the plastic off of them first). 

“How do you know it was my idea?!”

“You proposed to me four hours after _we_ met.”

“I was kidding!” He resists the urge to stick his tongue out at her. “You’re just mad you weren’t there to give me away to my new hot Russian assassin.”

“Bucky’s not Russian,” Steve interrupts, “And this is not the kind of thing he should be doing. He should be back home-”

“You mean the place he hasn’t been in 70 years?” Clint snaps out, more aggressive than he means but hey, he’s already got his mouth going. “You all want to chase him down, make him go back and fix him. Well guess what, sometimes fixin’ shit means fucking up on your own with no one else there to blame it on. It means doing stuff for the hell of it sometimes!”

Steve opens his mouth to retort when suddenly a rubber dart smacks him right in the forehead. Everyone stops and turns to find Bucky looking annoyed with them all. He’s dressed in a pair of Clint’s sweats (too short in the leg) with his hair yanked back in a messy tail.

“It was a fuckin’ joke,” he drawls out in a rough voice. His eyes flicker over to Clint, going warmer and more alive. Clint’s stomach is not doing stupid flips or anything. “Dumbass punk makes me laugh. Anybody wanna start somethin’ about it?” he spreads his hands in a wide, challenging gesture that’s nothing like the Soldier he was forced to be for too damn long. It’s obvious by the fond curl on Steve’s lips that it’s more like the Bucky he used to know.

“Jerk,” he complains softly, punching him on the shoulder. “You always have to make an entrance don’t you?” 

Clint relaxes, meeting Bucky’s eyes as everyone moves into the kitchen, Sam serving up breakfast on mix-match plates and silverware. No one brings up the marriage again and Tasha only gives Clint a tiny little smile when Bucky drapes his arm over the back of Clint’s chair. He’s not even looking at him as he talks to Steve. It’s probably gonna blow up in their faces. But right now, a stupid Vegas wedding has probably been the best idea he’s had in a long time.


	6. Is That a Gun in Your Pocket? (Please Don't Shoot Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint never learns.
> 
> For Winterhawk week on tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Meddling with ages here- Clint’s 18-19, while Barney, Bucky and Tasha are in their mid-late twenties. Also sort of Noir/40's setting.

“Yer not going after that ‘un.”

“I could take him.”

“Tch, unlike you, he ain’t soft in the head.”

“Like you can tell from here. Looks like he could be in pictures though...” Clint trails off as he admires the grin curling up the mark’s face. It’s one that talks of sin and deviousness despite the way he can hear him ‘ma’aming’ the dame he’s getting the lowdown from. A waitress from the bar, he’s pretty sure. The man is broad-shouldered (though he can’t tell how tall since he’s sitting) but fills out a suit like he’s born to wear’em- though Clint can see that it’s not as smart as it could be and his shoes, while nicely shined, aren’t new either.

Barney snorts beside him, shoving his elbow into Clint’s own, making him spill his drink like the putz he is. “That’s yer problem, kid, you think with your dick more’n yer head. He may be pretty but he’s packing.”

Clint can’t help the leer crawling over his face which transforms into a snigger when Barney rolls his eyes. “What? I didn’t say nothing!”

“Fine. Go ahead.”

“You really don’t think I could, do ya?” Barney leans back against the table and crunches on the ice from his watered down whiskey. They can’t afford the good stuff... not that there’s a lot of good stuff around these days. “I could! I could snitch his wallet and he wouldn’t even know it. And! And I’ll get him to buy me a drink too!”

Clint’s up out of his seat before he thinks of a plan to get Mr. Hollywood to actually do any of that. He passes by the brunet, brushing shoulders with the waitress who’d just left him. They- him and Barney- never steal from waitresses or anyone who works that hard. The Barton brothers might not have a lot of principles but they have some. Now his mark definitely could spare some cash, enough for Clint to show off to Barney.

He needs to stall. He has no plan and Barney’s probably laughing at him, the good for nothing- huh. He isn’t in his seat anymore. Probably saw a mark of his own to go after. Clint decides to head into the washroom to buy himself time. It’s smallish but cleaner than a lot he’s been in. He automatically looks for exits- he could probably boost himself up to the window and crawl out if he had to. Not that anyone’s looking to bust his head. Today anyway.

“‘Scuse me, kid.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, sorry pal,” Clint blinks and steps back from the door. And who would walk in? Mr. Hollywood. “Cheap beer always runs through me, too.” 

The man quirks a brow as he heads to the stall, smirking to himself. When he brushes by, Clint lets his hand slip over his hip, drawing his wallet out, easy as anything. He shouldn’t push his luck but--

“Better’n a dame that does the same, right? Seems like the kind of problem a fella like you might have,” he winks as he ducks out of the bathroom. Barney’ll mock him for not getting the drink but really if Clint buys himself a drink with the man’s bills, then isn’t that the same thing practically?

He doesn’t make it very far down the poorly lit hallway before he’s grabbed. It isn’t the first time it has happened to him so he doesn’t so much as even blink before throwing an elbow back at the person behind him. Pivoting on his heel, he aims a punch with his free hand.

Unfortunately, Mr. Hollywood isn’t a slouch, he seems like he was expecting the reaction even, given that he slams Clint face-first into the wall. His body presses a hot, solid line against his back which is a lot more distracting than it oughta be at that moment. Maybe Barney’s right and he should get his head outta his trousers.

“You’re not very bright are you, kid?”

“Don’t haveta be, I’m pretty,” Clint replies, flippant as anything. Least Hollywood isn’t twisting hard enough to break his wrist. “Don’t call me kid,” he adds.

“You got a name then?” The man shifts his weight closer, his free hand moving clinically over Clint’s body- a little shorter and a lot less muscled than his new ‘friend’. He’s probably looking for his wallet and maybe seeing if Clint’s packing heat. He finds his switchblade which makes Clint bite back a few choice words.

“Ha, I ain’t dumb either,” Clint smirks, licking his lips. Barney might argue but he ain’t here and Clint isn’t gonna call for him. Shifting his weight, he tests Hollywood’s grip on his wrist- and yep, it tightens right up. But then he flips Clint around so they’re face to face instead, Clint’s hands held up over his head. 

“Never said you weren’t pretty.”

Clint stares up into real gorgeous blue eyes, then drops his gaze to see Hollywood slip his tongue out over his bottom lip. Heh, not _that_ much of a kid then. He’s so gonna crow about that to Barney. Still, Clint can’t get carried away since he’s, y’know, not going anywhere. “Yeah? Noticed that’s not really helping me much here, though.”

A hot chuckle turning those lips up into a sinful grin makes Clint’s knees go weak. Hollywood shifts his body casually, no give to the grip he has on Clint’s wrists. “Nah. I got this thing about letting off criminals.”

“What about getting them off?” He leans his head forward, closer than he oughta be, close enough to feel the other man’s breath on his lips. It excites him, Clint can’t lie about that and wouldn’t really want to. But he still steps on Hollywood’s inset and wiggles loose. He can’t help himself- glancing back to see Hollywood going red and then charging after him.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth? C’mere!” He chases him through the bar and Clint makes it all the way outside before Hollywood grabs him again, shoving him up against the brick wall and pinning him with his hands above his head.

This isn’t fun anymore. Most marks would punch him and cuss him out if they caught him, not try to keep him there. That makes fear curl up tight in his stomach. “Shove off!” He should call for Barney-

“That’s what was keeping you, Barnes? Throw him back, he is too small to keep.”

Clint’s mouth drops open as he whips his head to the left. Standing in the alleyway is a _gorgeous_ redhead that barely clears his brother’s shoulders- and who's got him in cuffs with a gun held loosely in her hand. She’s confident and cool, not even bothered by his moose of a brother.

“Barney? Don’t tell me you-”

He winces and holds up his handcuffed hands and Clint knows he’d be spreading in them in a ‘whattya do’ gesture if he could. “In my defense, she’s got a body that won’t quit. Even when you want it to.”

“That’s why Nat’s the best, Clint.” Hollywood lets him go so Clint scrambles to face both of them.

“Best at - hey! How’d you know my name?!” He feels like he’s been cheated out of half the damn script.

“Cuz they’re bait, not marks,” Barney drawls, looking put upon. Clint can see him working at the cuffs all quiet-like but ‘Nat’ reaches over and pulls the safety pin out of his fingers without even a glance. She’s _good_. “They set us up.”

“Yeah we did, sorry about that, kid. Name’s James Barnes, Bucky to my friends. That’s Natalia Romanoff,” he’s talking to Clint, not Barney and gestures to the redhead who only arches her brow like she’s amused at everything. “We were sent to see if we could recruit you.”

“We’re not really joiners,” Clint retorts, feeling cheated. So Barnes had been playing him, just to keep him busy while his partner took out his brother. Figures, he shoulda known better.

“So you say but you both joined Carver’s circus and honed specific skills there, some of them less than honest. And your brother enlisted in ‘43, served with distinction minus a few reprimands for behavior,” Romanoff points out, Barney’s gaze yanked to her immediately. “And he was honorably discharged for a head injury.”

“Well, that explains why he went after you.”

“And you getting dropped on your head explains why you went after the bruiser, little brother. Told you it wouldn’t work.”

“It did too! I snitched his wallet before he collared me!”

Clint jumps when Barnes put his fingers in his mouth and whistles, sharp and loud. He flashes his partner an amused glance. “Startin’ to think you’re right and Steve’s got a coupla screws loose asking us to recruit these two.”

“They do have skills worth exploring,” Her lips quirk and that’s when Clint knows she’s fucking with them. Barney too since he starts to chuckle.

“So what’s the job? Better yet, what’s the pay?”

“Better than what’s in my trousers,” Barnes winks at Clint and he finds himself grinning back.

“I dunno, I’m kinda partial to what I found.” Maybe it’ll be fun to see what kind of trouble they can get into with these two. If nothing else, it’s probably going to be one helluva ride.


	7. Make Me Feel Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High School AU because what fandom doesn’t have one? Bucky is the big man on campus and Clint is the juvenile delinquent. (Also very inspired by an RP with hoboshorts. <3)
> 
> [Tumblr Link](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/98481136156/make-me-feel-too-much).

Clint has no idea how they got here- shoving each other into an empty classroom, hands yanking at each other’s clothes, trying to get to overheated skin. Bucky’s making a meal of his ear and shoving his fingers in Clint’s mouth to keep him quiet about it. He cusses him out despite the fingers and Bucky only grins back at him and yanks his head back by his hair.

Clint’s knees buckle and he crashes down against a desk, nearly toppling it over. They both freeze, breathless for several moments. Then Clint starts snickering into the meat of Bucky’s shoulder and he gets his side pinched for it. Bucky is grinning though.

“Shut up,” he mutters against Clint’s jaw, licking and nipping his way down. Probably trying to leave a hickey. Asshole.

“You started it with your he-man act,” Clint retorts, gasping when Bucky worries his teeth against the tendon on his neck. Yup, definitely leaving a hickey. Clint would protest but he’s too busy spreading his legs to get the other boy closer to him.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, Bucky started everything. Clint had been minding his own business when he got shoved back in this school, waiting for Barney to come spring him from foster care. He had done the bare minimum to get by, keep his head ducked down but people would not leave him alone.

There were some crazy ass stories about him- rumors about Budapest and secretly working as an experimental government agent with crazy reflexes. Now that he didn’t mind so much, it was other rumors that irritated him. Like the fact he was abandoned by his parents to carnies and hadn’t had a bath in six months. Stupid shit made to get him mad and get him to pick fights. Like throwing rocks at animals and waiting for them to lash out.

So when Bucky Barnes, big man on campus, football hero, student council blah blah fucking blah, waltzes up to him to ask him about some chemistry question was it any surprise that Clint told him to go fuck himself?

That had apparently been interesting to the dumbass because he wouldn’t leave him alone from there on out.

“What can I say? I like it when you get slutty,” Bucky’s breath is in his ear and he can feel his smile against the shell. “Or maybe I just like you.”

“What?” Clint pulls his head away to look the other boy dead in the face. Bucky’s giving him the rolled eyes like he’s the moron here so he elbows him. “What are you talking about?”

“Is this a hard concept? I like you, Clint,” Bucky arches both of his brows and reaches for him again but Clint jerks up off the desk and feels his stomach tense up unhappily. “Are you surprised? Really?”

Clint’s back goes up at the incredulous tone and he rakes a hand through his hair, pacing. “Gee, I dunno, maybe it has something to do with the fact I’m your dirty lil hook up? Feelings aren’t really part of the package.”

“Dirty—” Bucky actually looks insulted maybe? Or maybe he’s confused. Fuck if Clint knows. Maybe he’s just annoyed that Clint is talking instead of sucking his dick. Asshole. “You’re not my hookup, jesus.”

“So, I’m your boyfriend?” Clint challenges with a sweet voice. He’s not hurt when nothing comes out of the other boy’s mouth, just a soundless noise. “That’s what I thought. Look, don’t give me this shit that you “like me” or whatever the fuck. I didn’t get into this so you could take me to homecoming and ‘pin me’,” he sneers.

“You’d look cute in a dress with your legs,” Bucky jokes but it’s the wrong thing. It’s all wrong and Clint just punches because that’s what he does when he’s panicked. He gets Bucky square on the jaw too. “Ow! The hell’s wrong with you?!”

“You! You’re what’s wrong with me, Barnes!” He shouts. People could hear them, hear him yelling but the words are coming out anyway. “You sit there with your fucking smile and your joking and think that you can fuck around with me and play me?! I’m not fucking stupid! You’re not even man enough to admit to anyone that you like a little cock when you get bored with pussy!”

“I don’t see you screaming to the class that you’re with me!” Bucky shoots back now, shoving Clint back, making him stumble over his feet and Clint likes it better this way. He likes the fact Bucky looks angry and disgusted with him. Good, better to get this over with now before Clint goes and does something stupid like getting attached. “Why are trying to pick a fight with me anyway? I just wanted to have a good time with you!”

“Yeah, pass the time with me ‘til some cheerleader rolls over and spreads for you, right?” Clint mocks. “Still holding out for Tasha, right? She’s not a cheerleader but damn, that’d be something really worth crowing about, am I right?”

Bucky shoves at him again, slamming him up against the door to the classroom and Clint half expects to be beat but he doesn’t. He glares like he wants to but all he does is hold Clint in place, breath hot on his cheek. “Are you jealous?” he asks, low and intimate.

Clint knees at him but Bucky’s a quick study and twists his hips away. “Fuck you.”

“Stop fighting me and tell me what’s going on in your messed up little head, Barton!”

“I don’t gotta tell you nothin’!” he snaps, grabbing at Bucky’s hands and digging his nails into them. He scraps down hard enough to draw blood but Bucky doesn’t let go. “I’m gonna be outta here in a month or two, tops. Barney’ll come for me and I’ll be gone so why should I care what you think about me? I don’t. I don’t care if you like me. I don’t care about you at all. You weren’t anything to me.”

Bucky looks like he just punched him in the gut, like he can’t believe it. Clint’s heart is pounding in his ears, waiting for him to do something. But Bucky just… drops his hands and turns his back on him. Figures. Clint’s not worth the effort to go out on dates or do normal teenaged shit and he’s not the effort of trying to hold onto either.

Just because it’s not new doesn’t mean it doesn’t still sting like a bitch though.


	8. Say Something (I'm Giving Up on You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omfg, it’s done. This one kinda got away from me, didn’t mean for it to be so long. Sequel to my previous HS AU fic. Because I was evil and left them at odds. ;)
> 
> [Tumblr link](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/98954574346/say-something-im-giving-up-on-you).

God. Save him from the Clint fucking Bartons of the world.

Save him from scruffy blond troublemakers who don’t know how to quit.

Save him from having _actual fucking feelings_ for them because apparently that’s a cardinal sin. Who knew? Liking someone was akin to stabbing their grandmother in the eye.

“So did you ask him?” Bucky ignores the innocent inquiry from Steve, striding down the hallway at a murderous clip that makes people get out of his way. It’s not Steve’s fault Clint is an asshole and makes Bucky crazy. “Hey, what happened-”

He whirls on his friend, who has the sense to hold up his hands in surrender. “Barton can go choke on his own dick for all I care!”

“What?”

“That fucking _asshole_ was just- he was just wasting time! He doesn’t even give a shit about me so fuck him. No, fuck me for thinking he could want to be more than fuck buddies. Won’t make that mistake again.”

The confusion drains out of Steve’s face and he urges Bucky into an empty corridor. It’s not exactly private but the class bell’ll ring in a minute or two anyway. Maybe he’ll just cut class entirely, the way he feels, he’ll mouth off at Lensherr or worse, Fury. 

“Buck... did Clint actually say that?” He asks, soft and low.

“Might as well,” Bucky works his jaw. He hates that Clint managed to get under his skin like this. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

Steve pats his shoulder, eyes troubled and hurt for him. “I don’t either. You’re a great guy. I’m sorry he can’t see that.”

Bucky jerks his head back, letting it impact with the wall behind him. It stings, but it’s not enough. The thing is, he’s mad more at himself for fucking up. He wasn’t dumb or blind, he could tell that you couldn’t just come at Clint with the roses and the handholding. He’d moved too fast and now...

“Who knew asking someone to homecoming would be this hard?” he snorts, giving a bitter smirk. 

“Maybe he’ll change his mind in a few days? He probably just needs to cool off,” Steve offers. It’s a nice thought but Bucky knows Clint better than that at least.

****

He’s not terribly surprised when Clint ducks their shared classes and when he can’t, goes out of his way to be a complete dickhead towards him. He’s acting like a five year old, mocking Bucky anytime he’s talking to anyone (but in particular Natasha) and kicks the back of his chair and flat out refuses to make eye contact when Bucky tries to turn it around and talk to him instead.

It’s making him wish he’d punched him when he had the chance.

It goes on for a week and Bucky’s having a hard time remembering why he even likes the blond when Natasha pulls him aside in the library. Clearly she wanted to get his attention when Clint wasn’t around to mess it up. There’s a part of Bucky that wouldn’t mind if she wanted to date him. She’s gorgeous and sly and interesting. 

She’s looking at him like she knows what he’s thinking and she smirks. “I’m not getting involved except to ask you something.”

“Ask me nice, and we’ll see what happens,” Bucky teases, tossing her a wink. Can’t blame a guy for flirting when the opportunity's there, right?

“Do you know how many high schools Clint has been in?”

Definitely not the question he expected. “No.”

He stands up from the slouch he’s affected and she arches her brows at him. She’s leading him somewhere. “Take a guess.”

“Is there another rumor about him or something?” He snorts, shifting his weight. “I dunno, three?” 

“Try seven. In three years.” 

“What?”

She gives him a measuring look, like she’s deciding if she can share something with him. She is basically Clint’s only friend, of course she knows things he won’t tell anyone else. He ignores the part of him that feels kinda put out knowing that Clint trusts her more than he ever trusted him. “His brother Barney moves a lot and Clint moves with him until social services come. He gets put into foster care but Clint hates it so he runs away. That’s if he doesn’t get kicked out of a school for fighting.”

It also explains why Clint can be so bored with one subject in school and completely lost in another- it’s probably because of what he did (or didn’t) pick up at a previous school. Bucky had offered to help him catch up on his work. Steve used to be home sick a lot when they were younger, before his treatments, so he’s used to it. 

Clint was too proud to ask for help though. And maybe he is smarter than anyone gives him credit for, he’s not that far behind in his classes considering how much he’s been bounced around.

“I knew about his brother a little and the fighting’s kind of obvious but I never thought...” He trails off. 

What? He knew Clint was difficult but that had been part of the appeal. Maybe that makes him a little shallow or something but it had gotten his attention at first. Watching him mouth off directly to the people who’d talk about him behind his back. Or actually give a surprisingly on point answer to a teacher (even if it wasn’t the answer they were looking for). Clint was defiantly himself and it didn’t hurt he was easy on the eyes too. When Bucky actually convinced him to hang out he began to like Clint for himself more than anything. It became worth it every time he was he able to tease out something else about the blond. 

“He’s scared,” Natasha informs him, drawing his attention back to her. She adjusts the books in her arms and turns halfway away, clearly ready to leave. 

“Of me?” He can’t imagine why. Clint’s got to know that he wouldn’t hurt him.

“Of caring.”

****

He stews on it. The rest of the football team has him bracketed in at the lunch table, talking and jostling each other. Clint’s barely visible, tucked up against a wall as he’s surreptitiously flicking balled up straw wrappers at various people around the cafeteria. He’s got surprisingly good aim and Bucky can feel his lips twitching up in spite of himself.

“You’re staring,” Steve murmurs quietly, not drawing attention to themselves. 

Bucky would normally toss off something at the accusation but this time he just shrugs, pushing the weird gray-green pea mash around his plate. “I don’t know what to do, Steve. Or if there is anything to do.”

“He’s been acting like a moron around you,” Steve points out, then glances over Bucky’s face, lips quirking in a smirk. “Guess that’s the appeal?”

“Not entirely, you should see what he can do with his-”

“That’s okay!” Steve interrupts with a laugh, thumping their shoulders together. He leans in, “You know how I feel, Buck. Life’s not worth living if you’re not going after what you want. If you want Clint, show him, don’t let him put words in your mouth.”

“When I get the opportunity?” he retorts with a sardonic look, glancing over at Clint again. He’s glaring hard at his fingers, looking annoyed at something. “He said his brother was coming for him... maybe I should just let it lie.”

If Clint was just going to leave, maybe it wouldn’t be worth trying to pick up again. Clint was pretty adamant about not having ties to anyone or anything. He didn’t want to miss anyone and it made sense, it was hard to keep up a friendship (or more) over long distances. 

So a few more weeks pass. Clint quit being an absolute ass at every moment and even showed up to a football game or two (Bucky was pretty sure that he wasn’t supposed to see him but someone needs to tell Clint that a bright purple knit cap isn’t a good way to stay incognito). It’s awkward but bearable. 

Things changed the day he spots Clint getting the shit beaten out of him by three other boys. Bucky doesn’t think, he just drops his books and charges in, tackling one to the ground. He aims a punch to his head, feeling blood spray out from under his knuckles where they connect to a nose.

Clint makes a triumphant noise and then Bucky hears a yelp. He looks up in time to spot Clint bending the other boy’s fingers at a painful looking angle. Shooting Bucky a grin through bloody teeth, he knees the boy in the gut. The third boy knocks Bucky on his ass when he’s distracted watching Clint but Bucky’s been tackled too many times in football to let it slow him down. He brings his elbow down on the boy’s ear. Clint yanks the boy off of him while he’s still clutching his ear and kicks him in the butt.

The three boys scramble off. 

“That’s right! Run you little chickenshits! You’re lucky that’s all you got!” Clint calls out after them and turns to Bucky with a bright grin. “That was fucking awesome. Not that I needed the help, I coulda taken those guys but yeah.”

“You’re welcome,” Bucky replies dryly, moving to get up off the ground. He’s a little surprised when Clint offers his hand to help him up and when he’s standing they’re really close. He licks his lips and Clint’s eyes go dark. For a split second Bucky thinks-- but then there’s a yipping noise by their feet.

Clint blinks and kneels immediately to scoop up a puppy, blondish (maybe? he’s pretty dirty) with barbed wire wrapped around his backleg and chunks of his fur missing. He’s wagging his tail at least so he’s not too hurt.

“Wait, were you trying to to protect this little guy?” Bucky guesses, offering his fingers to let the dog sniff. He gets a lick for his efforts, making a smile curl up his lips.

“No, I mean, yeah I guess. Those fuckheads were taunting Lucky here and poking him with a stick so I y’know, poked them with one,” Clint shrugged, looking defensive. “Here, just hold him for a sec, okay?”

He accepts the wiggling bundle of fur as he laughs. “You’re a nice guy.”

“Shut up.” Clint picks up his backpack and rummages in it until he finds a pair of what looks like wirecutters. Why Clint has that on him he doesn’t ask. 

“You are, you’re nice and you have a soft spot for puppies. No one is ever going to believe you’re a badass again,” Bucky teases, dodging back when Clint tries to swipe at him without accidentally hitting Lucky. He sets the puppy down, giving him a scratch. “Rep is ruined! Completely!”

“Not if I shut you up first!” Clint lunges at Bucky but he steps aside, grabbing Clint around the waist. He hauls him up off his feet as Clint cusses him out but he’s grinning, laughing like Bucky hadn’t seen him do in weeks. He doesn’t even mind the wet willy he gets when he’s distracted. Before he thinks, Bucky plants a wet kiss to Clint’s cheek. 

They both freeze.

“Uh...”

“Yeah...” Clint huffs and slumps his shoulders. “I’m a dick.”

“Yep.”

They separate, belatedly. Bucky wants to grab him close again but just stuffs his hands in his back pockets instead, watching. Waiting him out. 

Clint kneels down when Lucky circles his feet. “I figured you’d get tired of me and I was okay with that. I mean, it’s how this kind of thing goes.”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Bucky holds up his hand to cut Clint off, keeping his voice even. “What thing was that? The thing where I was trying to get to know you?”

“Through my dick?” Clint gives him a look. 

“Would you have let me get to know you any other way?”

He does consider for a second before he makes a conceding nod. “Okay, fair point. I just figured it was a prank at first and then when it turns out you’re just nuts... I dunno,” He shrugs. “Um... I’m not pissed anymore.”

“Good. Since I just said I liked you and all,” Bucky isn’t so nice that he won’t continue to point that out. Still, he isn’t trying to be right, he just.... wants to be with Clint. “We done with the weirdness?” He rolls his eyes when Clint grins. “You know what I mean.”

Clint stands up and steps in close, his eyes watching Bucky’s face long enough to make his heart start to beat faster. He smirks slow and easy, the way that always made Bucky want to kiss him for hours. “Yeah.” He jiggles his leg and lets out a whoosh of breath. “And if you still wanted to... do stuff, I’d be cool with it.”

Bucky swallows and reaches out to hook his fingers in Clint’s jean pocket, pulling him that much closer. “What kind of stuff are we talking about?” Clint glares at him like Bucky’s trying to torture him so he goes out on a limb. “You wanna go to homecoming with me?”

“No.”

Well, there he has it. Stepping back, Bucky nods his head, lips in a firm lip. “Right.”

“You owe me a few regular dates before you get to twirl me around in a rented monkey suit and pretend that it’s the first time you’ve felt me up.” Clint’s biting his lip despite the teasing words. It’s enough to make Bucky give him a smile back. It’s different, different than anyone else he’s dated. Clint’s never going to be easy... but he’s pretty sure that’s what he likes about him. 

“So I will get to feel you up?”

“If I remember right, I’m supposed to wait til like date 3 or something before I let you touch my boobs,” he pretends to ponder, cupping his hands over his chest with wide eyes. 

“Lucky for me I like your ass more.” Bucky doesn’t even pretend not to grab his ass when Clint bends to pick up his backpack again. A smug grin settles on his lips at the sound he gets in reply.

“Why does everyone think you’re charming, again?” 

“I charmed you.”

“Whatever.” Clint’s ears are turning red so he leans in, mouthing at the curve of one. 

“Admit it. You like me.”

“I’m starting to.”

That’s enough. That’s more than enough for now. Whatever comes next will be worth it.


	9. Destruction of Government Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Originally posted here](http://pariahsdream.tumblr.com/post/104723242011/destruction-of-govt-property).

"Fury wants to see you." 

Clint blinked and looked around, hand scratching over his hair. “What? Me?”

Hill looked like she wanted to smack him for even that much irritation to her day. She was Bucky’s direct superior and while he had appropriate respect and awe for all the badassitude, he wasn’t _actually_ one of her minions. 

"There’s an issue with you destroying government property," She declared, grabbing Clint up by his arm to haul him down the hallway. No one made eye contact so he couldn’t even signal for help. 

"Wha-? I haven’t-" Had he? Probably not? Besides, all those paperclip chains and photocopies he made while waiting for Bucky couldn’t be traced back to him. Had they dug up something from his criminal days? Shit. "Whatever it is, I’m sure I was nowhere nearby! Seriously, I am inherently lazy person. I’d much rather watch tv in my underwear than annoy Fury."

"Inside," Hill ordered, not blinking an eyelash at him as they came to a stop in front of the Director’s office.

Clint stumbled over his unlaced boots (Bucky always gave them a very jaundiced eye) and nearly brained himself on the desk. A quick, strong grip on the back of his shirt saved him. “You’re my hero- hey, Bucky.”

The other man was doing the stoic face- which meant Clint had somehow gotten them _both_ in trouble. “Shit, I didn’t- I mean, whatever it is, I’ll work it off-“

Bucky made a noise in his throat that almost sounded like a laugh-

"Barton!"

Despite, y’know, _not being_ a marine or a commando or whatever, Clint straightened up at the tone but that was as far as he got with respect. “Yeah?”

"Do you know why you are here?"

"I’m being framed?" Clint offered up with a shrug. Bucky made another noise, catching his attention before Fury jabbed a finger at him.

"You are a menace. I made it very explicit to _both of you_ that there was a very strict dress code for the medal ceremony. The World Security Council is actually acknowledging all the shit that Rogers and Barnes have pulled off and you go and give him a damn hickey the day of the ceremony like a 15 year old girl marking territory!” 

Clint’s eyes immediately darted to Bucky’s neck- and yep, plain as day was a very, very dark hickey that was not being hid at all by his dress uniform. Actually said dress uniform was the whole reason for it- Bucky had tried it on the night before and Clint couldn’t keep his hands off of him. 

Just the memory of that made him lick his lips, Bucky’s adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to keep composure-

"-Are you even listening to me?" Fury’s voice cut through Clint’s fog. 

Clint grinned wide and recklessly. “Hey, at least I didn’t stain the uniform.”

Bucky gave up at that point- head falling into his hands as he laughed helplessly.

Needless to say, it was standing orders from then on out that Barnes was placed in 24 hour quarantine any time he had to be presentable. 

(It only worked half the time.)


	10. In Which there is Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finds out about mug cakes. Bucky finds out that this is more dangerous than it should be.  
> Inspired by my own Youtube surfing and conversations with my Bucky (hoboshorts).

It’s no surprise that various Avengers have trouble sleeping. Not all the time but often enough that late night kitchen activity isn’t frowned upon. Clint isn’t much for the kitchen - he’s the type to warm up pizza or leftover Thai food if no one else has any leftovers, but in general hasn’t got a lot of interest in doing actual cooking like an adult.

Which is kind why he has no idea how he ends up on youtube at 2 a.m. watching people making tiny cakes in mugs but after the fourth video it’s looking both really easy and really tasty. And hey, he wouldn’t be making much noise if it’s the microwave, right? 

“How hard can this shit be?” he mumbles, wandering out of his bedroom with Starkpad in hand, debating between a simple chocolate cake or the more adventurous (and delicious) snickerdoodle mug cake. Scratching the back of his head he gets out stuff he’ll need- you know, like flour and a mug, right? 

“Might should read the recipe, dipshit,” he mutters, blinking blearily into the blue coolness of the kitchen, hissing as he flips on a light. There’s more ingredients than he remembers but it’s not like he can’t follow a recipe. It’s all right there, right? He can disassemble bombs in a time crunch, he can handle cooking where the only explosion is a taste one. _In his mouth._

(Heh, he’s hilarious, people just don’t appreciate him.) 

So he grabs the butter and egg from the fridge (and only side-eyes Tony’s weird green smoothies briefly) and then searches out the dry stuff. That’s when things get weird. 

“Wait, are baking powder and baking soda different?" 

He’s got both in hand but the only thing he remembers about either of them is that one of them helps with stank. His cookies won’t smell bad so why is it going in? Sticking his finger in the baking soda, he tastes it- it’s not quite salty and altogether nasty. “What the fuck?”

Setting that aside, he just grabs the table salt instead. At least he knows that’s edible. Okay, so that’s sorted. And he knows what cinnamon and vanilla are but he’s a little surprised that he needs two kinds of sugar. Eh, he doesn’t feel like searching for the brown so he’ll just add extra white. It’ll be fine.

"Cream of tartar? Okay, now they’re just making shit up.”

“Barton?” Bucky calls from the doorway, looking puzzled and sleep-mussed. It’s a good look on him but pretty much all looks are (although bedraggled from getting dunked in the Atlantic is more funny than hot). His hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and Clint is distracted watching him lift the hem of his shirt to scratch at his stomach. “Cream of tartar is for baking, makes cakes light and fluffy.”

“It’s a real thing?”

Bucky gives him a look like he doesn’t know how Clint managed to survive to his current age. It’s a fair question to be honest. “Go to bed, Clint. You need sleep not... whatever the hell you’re doing.”

“What, you miss me?” Clint teases, ignoring the orders. He picks up the measuring spoons and frowns at the recipe again. “You’re just gonna sit there?”

“This is bound to be entertaining,” Bucky replies as he situates himself at the island, propping his chin in his hand and giving Clint a smirk. He feels a little judged to be honest. “And I can get to the fire extinguisher too.”

Clint flips him off and pours double the amount of white sugar in one bowl and adds the cinnamon and salt to that. He ponders the egg for a bit- he needs just the yolk for some reason. 

“You really are trying to make this, aren’t you?” Bucky sighs and moves around the island to bump Clint with his hip. “Gimme that before you poison yourself.” 

Bucky only takes one look at the recipe before he snorts and dumps out everything Clint had into the trash to start over. He moves quickly to dish out two portions, separating eggs with his fingers like a freaking chef, dashing in cinnamon and adding nutmeg too because he’s Bucky and he likes this shit. Clint likes the results, especially the smell coming out of the microwave in a few minutes’ time.

“Hold up, not done yet!” he complains at the blond when he tries to grab the mugs from the microwave. Bucky grabs some leftover whipped cream and puts a generous dollop on top of the mugs and even some extra cinnamon making it pretty and shit. It’s kind of ridiculous for 3 am cake but it makes Clint grin (and then grin wider when Bucky’s ears go all pink).

“Don’t burn yourself, dumbass,” Bucky mutters as Clint juggles the hot mug, hissing. He shakes his head, hiding a smile while herding Clint over to the couches. They could just go back to bed but why walk that far. “Why do I put up with this?”

Clint leans over and smacks a kiss to his mouth- crumbles of cake still on his lips. “You thought I was having a nightmare and you’d make a dozen cakes if you thought it’d help,” he tells him through a mouthful of delicious cake. It’s definitely better than what he’d make. 

Buck snorts but doesn’t deny it. Clint wants to say that he’d do the same thing but he can’t offer that- can’t offer a lot to Bucky but he’ll give him whatever he can until he finds something better. Clint just hopes he can get a handle on these mug cakes by then. 

“Would you have tried to eaten whatever you would’ve ended up with?” Bucky asks, nuzzling his cheek against the top of Clint’s head. He’d be annoyed but it feels good to collapse into the couch like this.

“Depends on how edible it smelled.”

“What, after you put out the fire?” He chuckles low into Clint’s ear, nibbling on it. Has he even touched his cake? And does Clint care right now?

“So whattya say to making this a thing?” Clint is pretty sure he’s asking about the cakes. After all the sex is a thing they’re already doing. 

“A thing?” 

“Yeah, we- by that I mean you- make mug cakes in the middle of the night. We’ll tell the headshrinks we’re bonding nonviolently or something.”

“I thought us fucking was us doing that.”

Clint snickers. “Only mostly.”

Bucky chuckles. “Fair point, but what’s in it for me?”

“Besides cake?”

“Yeah. What kinda incentive do you go?”

“Well there’s still some whipped cream left...”

************

It’s the way that his life goes that it’s of course Bruce that walks into the kitchen first in the daylight hours. There’s flour from floor to ceiling, handprints (and a suspicious buttprint he's pretending isn't shaped like a butt) as well as chocolate and whipped cream leading out of the kitchen in a very telling way.

Definitely a day to get coffee down the street instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The recipe Clint is trying to make is from here (http://www.number-2-pencil.com/2013/07/18/snickerdoodle-cookie-in-a-cup/ )


End file.
